


My Demon

by WareWolf



Series: Hunter and King [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 10 Finale, Alternate season 11 because canon is going to get ahead of me., Cuddly Crowley, M/M, No actual sex, Someone else has to be the inside man in this au!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 06:19:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4908598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WareWolf/pseuds/WareWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Bobby Singer and the Winchesters colluded to pretend he had died?  What would Crowley do when Dean tells him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

Set after _Death's Door_

The man in the black suit stood in the doorway of the hospital room, staring blankly at the bed, already stripped of linen.  So absorbed was he that he didn't notice any approach until he felt a hand grip his shoulder and pull him around.  "What the fuck are you doing here?"  Dean Winchester's voice was almost a snarl, sharp with tension.  Very nearly he pulled his gun, but his brother quickly grasped his wrist to prevent him.

"We're in a hospital, Dean!  Crowley, I don't know what you're playing at now, but....not now, all right?"

"Where is he?"  Crowley, King  of Hell, interrupted, hardly seeming to notice either the gun or the handling.  "They said Robert Singer was here.  Where is he?"

The brothers looked quickly at one another.  Any other time, Crowley would have said something sarcastic about sharing a brain, but now he simply stared at Dean, waiting for a reply.  "He's dead, Crowley.  Dick Roman killed him.  Headshot."

"No," said Crowley, his voice oddly flat.

"Get out of here, Crowley.  Gun's loaded with rock salt and I will shoot you."

The demon raised amber eyes to Dean's face as though he had not heard.  He glanced next at Sam, then turned to look back into the hospital room as though he might have missed something.  "Where – where will he be buried?"

"We're not telling you,"  Sam said.  Crowley said nothing more and in the next instant he was gone.  The brothers exchanged uneasy looks.  "Was he upset?"  Sam asked.  "If he was, you know, a person, I'd say he was upset."

"He's not a person,"  Dean growled.  "And he's the last who should know any details about Bobby."

"He was upset,"  Sam said quietly.

 

*

Set after _Inside Man_

 

_"A wise man once told me, " 'Family doesn't end in blood.' "_

Crowley nodded tiredly, for once not trying to come up with any snarky response.  "That's Bobby Singer, isn't it?" he asked.  "Who said that about family not ending in blood?"

Dean nodded.  "Yeah, he did."  The hunter studied the demon king's morose face as he played with the tiny pitchfork stuck into his drink.  "Bobby was a good person to talk to, if you needed to talk, but boy, he did not take any crap."  Still Crowley didn't look at him, sunk deep into his grim thoughts.  Dean sighed.  "I'm gonna regret this, and Sam is probably going to make me regret it, but there's something we never told you, that time you came to the hospital where Bobby was taken."

"You didn't tell me anything at all,"  Crowley said, a caustic note entering his voice.  "So I suppose anything now is a bonus, isn't it?"

"Yeah,"  Dean said, and something in his voice made Crowley finally look him in the eyes.  "It's this.  Uh, Bobby didn't die."

"If this is your idea of humour, I warn you that the old Crowley isn't far below the surface."

"No.  He didn't die.  We cooked up the death story so that Bobby could get clear of the Leviathans.  He was real sick for a long time, more than a year.  After the hospital, he stayed with Garth for a few months and then Garth and some other hunters set him up in a cabin that used to belong to Rufus, his old partner.  They rescued some of his library from his house....anyway, he needed a new identity, to get away from hunting.  Dean shrugged awkwardly, "I don't know if you care, I don't know why you were there that day, but that's what happened."

"Where is he?"  Crowley asked, very softly.  "Dean.  Please.  Where is he?"

"Well clear of all this crap we're dealing with."

"Bobby Singer not a hunter?  That doesn't make any sense at all."

"I figure his story's for him to tell or not,"  Dean said.  "And I told you because, well, I don't exactly know why.  All these warm fuzzies we're having at the moment.  But I can't tell you where he is."

"Then call him for me.  Ask him if he'll see me."

Slowly, Dean nodded.  "Okay."

*

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

From a cabin on the outskirts of a small, dusty town, a man emerged to look at the sky.  There'd been nothing in the phone call he'd received to alarm him unduly, mostly because most of it hadn't made a lick of sense.  Sam and Dean hadn't told him much hunter news details for years, though he could always tell when they were holding things back, and this crap about taking the Mark of Cain to kill a chief demon and now killing Death....what was he supposed to make of that?  The last thing Dean had asked him was really messing with his head and he wasn't too sure why he had agreed.

Bobby Singer wished the boys would get over this idea that he was out of the life and they shouldn't worry him!   He was back now, wasn't he?  Back in the game as far as researching and knowledge went, physically recovered after three years.  He'd even considered going to spend some time with Sam and Dean and that library they'd told him about, the resources of the Men of Letters.  So far, though, he hadn't done it.  There was always something to be done about the house and garden, or fixing the old truck.

"Hello, Robert."

And there it was, standing on the sidewalk.

Crowley looked shockingly older, his face drawn and grim, silver shot through his beard and hair.  His black suit was the same as always, immaculately tailored, and he stood as though braced for attack.  Bobby looked at him, wondering when he had ceased to be afraid of this man, this demon.  Perhaps it was when Dean made his admission:  " _Bobby, I told Crowley you're alive.  I don't think he means you any harm, though I can't believe I'm saying this.  He wants to know if he can come see you."_

Bobby had given his consent for Dean to pass on his address.  He was still wondering why the Hell he'd done that.

"So,"  Bobby said slowly, "why does the King of Hell give a shit about a hunter?"

Crowley looked back.  His eyes were weirdly bloodshot, like there was a red light in their amber depths.  Then he blinked and the effect was gone.  "I came to see you in the hospital,"  he said, his drawling voice soft, almost cautious.  "Your boys told me that you were dead."

"I thought you'd be dancing in the streets at that news,"  Bobby said, raising his voice a little in question.

Crowley shook his head.  "I wanted to see you," he said, still with that same careful cadence.  "To know that you were all right.  You needn't fear anything from me."

Bobby snorted.  "I'm not scared of you."  He was startled to see Crowley smile;  not a sarcastic grimace but a real smile, his gaze searching Bobby as though to check for any signs of ill-health.  He nodded slightly, as though satisfied with what he found.  Embarrassed, the hunter looked squarely back.  "So why did you grow a beard?"

"Don't you like it, Robert?"  Yet the flirting seemed half-hearted, as though it really did matter to Crowley whether he liked it.  The demon touched the side of his own face, shrugged.  "I don't know.  Trying for a kingly dignity, I suppose."

That made Bobby grin;  he couldn't help it, never mind that this was still a demon, shred of humanity or not.   Crowley shrugged slightly.  "Well, no reason to visit apart from that, no deal planned, nothing of that sort.  Oh, you might want to lie low for awhile, since we really don't know what's going to come out of the Winchesters' latest exploit." 

"Were you involved in that?"  Bobby demanded.

"Oh, yes."  Crowley took a few steps towards him, stopping when Bobby stiffened and regarded him warily.  He raised his hands in the universal "harmless" gesture, still looking Bobby over.  "Absolutely no evil intent, Robert.  I just wanted to see you."  Then he was gone, leaving a confused hunter wondering why he felt...disappointed.

*

"That's right,"  Bobby said into the phone.  "Showed up, stared at me, said he just wanted to see me, vanished.  When do you plan to explain all that about killing Death?  Because somebody got run over in town the other day and he sure ain't walking around now.  If the apocalypse were happening – again - wouldn't we be seeing more freaky stuff?  Or are you just not tellin' me?"   He sensed someone watching him, looked up quickly and found Crowley barely a yard away, hands in his pockets.  "Shit!  No, not talking to you, Dean.  You get off the hook for now, I gotta go."

"Squirrel have much to say?"  Crowley asked.

"Nothin' useful."  Bobby directed a glare at the phone.  "I don't know what he thinks they've set off, I can't see a pattern anywhere and I've been looking.  Come on, see what you think."  He deliberately set off inside without looking at Crowley, thinking curiosity might do the job if he pretended not to care.  It seemed to work;  the demon followed him into the little house and over to the table in his living room where Bobby's papers and some books were spread out around the laptop.  Crowley stood so close that Bobby could feel his shoulder pressing against him.  "See, I've got it set up to show storms and weird weather patterns in general,"  Bobby said.  "No more homicides than usual, in fact, they're down in Nebraska and Kansas."  He shrugged, turning to Crowley.  "Want a drink?"

"Hm.  Any devil's traps around here, Robert?"

"Actually, no,"  Bobby admitted.   "I guess I've gotten slack.  Look, I'd just like the company, all right?  I keep to myself these days.  Safer, but I don't get any visitors.  C'mon, the booze isn't that bad.  You got anything else to do right now?"

The King of Hell shook his head slightly, but not in refusal.  More bemusement.   He glanced around the room they were in, which took up the majority of the house.  It had a small kitchen at one end and comfortable armchairs on either side of the fireplace.  No television and only the small laptop computer to link the hunter with the world.  The place was untidy, but clean, with books scattered on every available surface and filling the bookcases set against the walls.  Bobby went to the kitchen and removed a bottle from a cupboard, filling two glasses and handing one to the demon.  He gestured to the armchairs by the fireplace.  "Getting a bit cold.  I might..."  Crowley made a slight gesture and the logs in the fireplace were suddenly alight.  Bobby huffed, a sound which was almost laughter.  "Forgot who I was talkin' to for a minute.  Make yourself comfortable."

Crowley settled himself, looking at Bobby as he sat in the armchair beside him.  The hunter was a bit thinner, he thought, but overall he seemed the same.  He looked back at the demon and raised his glass a little.  "To old friends and enemies."

"Which am I, Robert?"

"I've never been dead sure,"  the hunter admitted.

"So, do you want to hear a story?  You've heard the boys' version."

"Go on."

"I went to a cell – in one of my aboveground addresses - with one of my demons to see a prisoner, a red-haired Scottish woman named Rowena..."   Crowley spared nothing, not even himself, as he recounted in an even, unhurried voice, just what had led him into a conspiracy with the Winchesters and with the mother who had never loved him.  "Sam tried to kill me,"  the demon said, his voice even, almost flat.  He looked at Bobby again, a bleakness in his eyes.  "I was there because I thought Dean had called me, but Sam had tricked me.  He made a deal with that bitchspawn mother of mine.  For Dean, of course.  Everything those two do is for one another."

He detailed Sam's attempt to kill him and his mother's spellcasting on Castiel.  "And Dean gave me your address, after first checking with you that you wouldn't mind a visit from a demon."

"A demon, I'd mind,"  Bobby said bluntly.  "Rock salt to the face if they were lucky.  But you -  I guess I was curious about why you'd asked.  Why you went to the hospital."

"I could have helped you,"  Crowley said.  "You wouldn't have taken a year to recover if I had."

"Wouldn't have made another deal with you, Crowley, not for anything."

Crowley looked towards the fire, feeling the warmth on his face and telling himself only the fire was responsible.  Despite Bobby's bluntness, he felt intensely comfortable with him, with the evidence of the hunter's odd trust of him.  "It wouldn't have been a deal, Robert.  I didn't want you dead.  Though of course, another chance to kiss you wouldn't go amiss."

Bobby huffed, but he wasn't seriously worried.  Crowley back to sexual innuendo had a comforting familiarity about it, and he could see that teasing him was helping Crowley relax.  "Yeah, I knew that would be it.  I'm just too damn good looking and irresistible.  Don't you have any gorgeous demon babes in Hell, as Dean would put it?"

"Oh, dozens,"  Crowley said dismissively.  "All panting to be at the disposal of the King, and just as eager to see me dead, if it would help their causes."

"So your mother got away with the Codex and the demon tablet and is now plotting your downfall."

"She probably thinks I'm dead.  She set a beast spell on Castiel, remember, and she couldn't know that he'd be knocked out before he could actually kill me.  There was a particularly well-timed earthquake at the probable moment that Dean scythed Death.  Death's visible avatar, anyway."

"Yeah.  I knew about that, the earthquake."

"You should be careful, Robert,"  Crowley emphasised.  "I don't believe I'm saying this, but draw the traps.  Put up wards around this place, for Hell's sake.  You may be done with the life, but the life isn't done with you.  More trouble is surely coming."

"Who said I'm done with the life?"  Bobby growled.  "And since when are you so concerned, anyway?  I don't get why you would care if I did die.  I was one more soul, wasn't I?  Okay, so I guess not many get their soul _back_ , but why would that make you care?"

Crowley turned his head to meet Bobby's eyes and Bobby was startled at his miserable expression.  "I really don't know, Robert,"  he said.

"Wait,"  Bobby called, but it was too late.  The armchair was empty.


	3. Chapter 3

Bobby shifted position in bed for the dozenth time, sighed and heaved himself to his feet.  Maybe if he got up and walked around a bit, he could sleep.  He'd found himself listening to every random sound outside; vehicles passing too fast, a police siren, someone shouting in the distance.  This little Kansas town held barely two thousand people;  you didn't get much in the way of trouble, supernatural or not, but if the King of Hell warned you, it was probably a good idea to listen.

Damn it, he still saw Crowley's face as though he'd been struck.  Why did Crowley care what he thought, what he said?  He walked into the kitchen, decided to make coffee.  If it kept him awake longer, so what.  He concentrated on the ritual, setting out a mug, reaching for the sugar tin.

There was a knock on his front door.  Bobby stiffened, checking the time.  Just after 2 am and he didn't have any neighbours close by anyway.   He looked through the spyhole, sighed deeply and unlocked the door.  "Three times is the damned charm, is it?"  he asked the King of Hell.  "Come on in."

"Where's your shotgun, Robert?  Not even a spray of holy water."  The demon sounded disapproving and Bobby fleetingly wondered whether he'd imagined that stricken look.

"I know when it's you,"  he said.  "Want some coffee?"

"Do you have tea?"

"I can probably scare some up,"  Bobby allowed, taking a second mug out of the cupboard.  "Why'd you take off earlier?  I didn't mean nothing by what I said.  Jes' curious."

"And that's why."

"What's why?  You take sugar?"

"Two."

He had to search for the box of teabags, deep in the pantry, then held them out for Crowley to take from his hand while he got to his feet.  "You make your tea.  I'll probably mess it up."

Crowley's smile was always a surprise, at least when he wasn't being sarcastic or superior.  It wasn't the kind of smile that belonged on a genuine black-suited bad guy.  Even knowing him like he did, Bobby couldn't help a rusty sort of grin back, before he was summoned by the kettle's whistle and went to lift it off the stove.  "No one else, ever, would care about my feelings,"  the demon said softly.  "So it can't matter, can it, when they despise me or lie to me.  But you thanked me for giving your legs back.  It would matter very much if you didn't care."

"How do you know I care?" 

Crowley smiled again, a bright, almost engaging look.  "I know.  But sometimes I doubt that I know."

"You make about as much sense as you ever did,"  Bobby sighed.  He finished with his coffee and lifted the mug, watching Crowley jiggle his teabag with the concentration of a brain surgeon.  "So, what's goin' on out there?"

"Nothing that will reach here for some time."  Crowley tried his tea, added a little more sugar, sipped again and nodded, setting down the spoon.  He leaned against the counter beside Bobby, rather closer than the hunter thought he would.

"That's not so comfortin' as you might think,"  Bobby grumbled. 

"Well, take my advice and ward this house properly.  I shouldn't have been able to walk up to your front door and just knock."

"Oh, balls.  It's not gonna be warded against you."  Bobby turned slightly and placed his hand on Crowley's shoulder, squeezed lightly.  "I invited you into my house before,  didn't I?  Shuttin' you out that way would be plain rude."

Crowley felt like anyone, to touch.  Solid shoulder, warm under his hand for a moment before he shifted like a skittish animal.  Bobby sighed.  "Sorry.  Look, don't pull your...."  He was looking at an empty space and a mug of steaming tea.  "...disappearing act!"  He left the tea where it was for awhile, thinking Crowley might return, but in the end tipped out the cold contents and dumped the teabag in the bin.

*

_"Kind of busy, Bobby."_

"Busy with what?"

_"Stuff."_

"Oh, stuff, is it?  You on the road?"

_"Not exactly."_

"Uh huh.  So what did you do to Crowley?  I know Sam tried to kill him, because his mother tried to make a deal to have that happen.  But to the King of Hell that can't be a huge thing, can it?  So why did he freak out on me?"

_"What did you do?"_

"Touched him."

_"Where?"_

"Geez, Dean.  On the shoulder.  A pat on the shoulder!"

_"Okay, what did you say to him?"_

"He was tellin' me I should ward the place, that he shouldn't have been able to come up and knock.  Well, it is warded, that's why he had to knock, but he thought I needed more'n that.  And I said....somethin' about not warding against him, I'd already invited him in.  Couldn't see the point, not now.  Then I kinda patted him and he just disappeared.  Look, talk to him, okay?  Pass him a note in goddamned study hall and tell him...."

_"He likes you, Bobby.  I think he likes you a lot.  Him and me, we kinda got on while I was a demon, until I shoved him on his butt.  I guess I....didn't exactly do right by him in the end.  And all Sam was thinking of was getting Rowena to do that spell and get rid of the Mark. What I mean is that we kind of treated him like something we could use.  He's probably scared you might do the same."_

"Scared?  The King of Hell?"

_"Well, yeah."_

"Goodbye, Dean.  Call back when you're willin' to share what's going on and let me help."

*

 _He likes you_.  Bobby huffed to himself as he went about the work of warding the small house.  He didn't fool himself;  if something big and nasty wanted in, it could probably get in, but if it did, it would know it had been in a fight.  If some kind of civil disorder started happening, he could handle that too.  There were enough stores and ammunition in the basement to keep him going a good while.

What Dean had said was no surprise, not when he considered the interactions there'd been between him and Crowley.  Bobby had expected to feel disgusted, creeped out, maybe, but when he thought of Crowley's face, his changeable eyes, sometimes dark, sometimes firelit amber, and his cheeky grin, he only felt sadness and confusion.  Crowley had never asked to be what he was, he realised.  That long ago human had probably been blind drunk when he made his "deal," if he'd even been telling the truth about that.  It didn't sound like he had made a deal for fame and fortune, in any case.  In Hell, he would have done anything, said anything, to get off the racks.  Being a demon had probably seemed like a chance to go home, until he learned it wasn't.  You would never belong, never be accepted and all you could ever do was watch the happiness of others...and try to destroy it.

Crowley had tried to come back.  Sam had given him blood and something of humanity, but what could a demon ever do with that?  More than any other of his kind, Bobby realised.

When night came, Bobby made supper, then sat and read lore, trying to prepare himself for whatever might come, listening to the wind as some long-ago hunter who'd lived in a cave or a camp might have done.  He'd tried to go online, to see if there were any messages from Sam or Dean, but seemed the Internet was having a night off.  Maybe the phone lines as well.  He didn't get anything like the calls he used to, just what Garth passed on.  To keep the old man feeling useful, Bobby thought disgustedly to himself.  He listened to the wind sounds, thinking a storm was probably on the way, but not interested enough to dig out his radio to find out.  In the distance he heard a shout, perhaps of pain, perhaps of something else.  Bobby's hand went towards the shotgun by his side, waiting.  There was nothing further and he settled back.  In the next second, someone knocked softly on the door.

He listened, not moving, because the armchair would creak if he stood up.  There was no second knock, only a soft, drawling voice with a British accent saying, "Robert?"

"C'mon in,"  Bobby said, staying where he was.  There was a black-suited demon standing in front of his chair.  Crowley's suit was less than pristine;  Bobby could see stains that might be blood, or some other bodily fluid best kept inside.  His hair was ruffled.  "Before you start, this place is warded six ways to Sunday, but not against you.  Have a seat."

Crowley nodded quickly, then settled in the other armchair with a sigh.  "I've been finding things out,"  he announced.  "Took a walk through the centre of your town, only to be mobbed by a group of individuals who clearly haven't taken the laws of hospitality to heart."

"Uh huh.  Don't think this town got that memo.  There's folks around got more guns and ammunition in their basements than Pop's Pawn and Gun Store on the main street."  Crowley blinked at him and Bobby sighed.  "Spelt p-a-w-n.   Small town America at its best.  Drink?"

"I provided."  The demon passed his silver flask and Bobby poured some of the contents into his glass.  A grade bourbon.  He raised his glass in a silent toast and Crowley followed suit.  "I would have thought you'd have joined the Winchesters in their bunker, not headed off on your own."

"I don't like the idea of livin' underground,"  Bobby said.

"The bunker isn't exactly a welcoming environment,"  Crowley agreed, then asked curiously, "You were expecting me?"

"Yeah.  And hoping you don't vanish on me again.  Tell me whatever you don't want me doin' or sayin' to you and I'll play along."  He wanted to see that grin again, but Crowley looked grim and preoccupied.  "These individuals who mobbed you,"  Bobby prompted.  "No longer a problem, I take it?"

He wasn't half as easy with Crowley's take it or leave it attitude to murder as he made out, but figured it was demonic nature, pretty much and not something Crowley was likely to change.  If he'd done in some of the town's citizens, Bobby thought it would be as well to know before the police came asking him, the almost-stranger who kept to himself, any hard questions.

"I don't know, love,"  Crowley said.  The endearment struck Bobby hard.  He had not been saying any of that, since showing up here the first time.  Not trying to wind up a hunter now, either, he said it as though he hardly realised.  "They behaved oddly."

"Drunk?"

"I don't think so.  They rushed me like a pack of hyenas;  I swear they were trying to bite me, as though they had some sort of disease.  There were marks on them."  Crowley indicated his neck.  "Some sort of mottling, but nothing I'm familiar with.  Not plague or ebola or anything interesting like that.  You wouldn't know if there's some problem locally, would you?"

"Not that I know of,"  Bobby said drily, but Crowley's account worried him.  "Some sort of monster involved, you think?"

"Other than myself?  Again, no idea.  I suggest you ask the Winchesters, as I get the strong feeling they're in the middle of whatever is going on."

"I'm gonna make some coffee.  You want?"

This time Crowley nodded, and Bobby went to make the coffee.  When he came back with the mugs, Bobby noticed that Crowley had moved his chair close to Bobby's, his arm stretched out along the headrest, but he said nothing about it.  After a moment he leaned back against the demon's arm.  Crowley was still for a moment and then Bobby felt his hand lightly touching his shoulder.

Not so much courtship, he thought, as Crowley daring himself.  As for him, he had thought about this, about Crowley, over a long time now and what they both needed.  Whatever damn label folks wanted to give to that need.  When Crowley turned in his chair, his face was very close to Bobby's neck.  He stayed still, making no effort to move, letting Bobby do the deciding.  Bobby's hand was still on Crowley's shoulder and he didn't remove it.  Instead he turned Crowley's face a little more and bent his head towards him, awkward but gentle as he brushed his lips over the demon's.  He had never done such a thing before with a man, but it felt simple and right.  "Don't want you thinkin' I might not care,"  he murmured.  "I'm sorry it took me this damn long to figure you out.  Why you went to the hospital, all the rest of it."

"I didn't think you'd want me,"  Crowley said.

"We didn't tell anyone I was alive, not just you.  You should've heard what Sheriff Mills said to me when she found out.  Your demons could take lessons from her."

Crowley chuckled at that and Bobby slid an arm around his shoulders, cautiously, half expecting him to disappear again.  "Look, why don't you stay here awhile?  You can help me on this hunt, unless you already know what's goin' on."

"Not nearly as much as I'd like,"  Crowley murmured. "Now, do you really mean you want me to stay with you?"  He sounded cautious once more.

Bobby snorted.  "I don't make a habit of sayin' what I don't mean,"  he said.  "Now, look, I'm not sayin' I'm ready for fallin' into bed with you, but I figure if you're here, I don't have to worry about you suddenly showin' up and scaring the life out of me.  And, damn, I'd just like you to."

Crowley smiled.  "Do you have a spare bed?"

"Well, no. The place isn't fully furnished yet..."

"And I don't see a couch, just these armchairs.  I promise I'll behave myself, Robert."

"You don't sleep,"  Bobby growled, but he could not stop himself laughing at Crowley's hopeful expression.  "And you never behave yourself."  He was still embarrassed, not long after, when Crowley followed him into the house's master bedroom, while Bobby was still changing into the track pants and singlet he slept in.  But the demon didn't comment, only asked where he could hang up his suit.  It was Bobby who gawked, when this disrobing ended with red silk boxers, but he quickly turned away before Crowley saw his expression and got into bed, yawning. 

"I can sleep,"  Crowley mentioned, picking up the thread of their earlier conversation.  "I just don't have to sleep."  He gave no details and Bobby wondered, suddenly, whether Crowley might simply want comfort and have no idea how to ask.  Why should a king in hell ever need to?

"Well, do whatever quietly,"  Bobby yawned again.  He felt the slight shift as Crowley got into the double bed on the other side and stretched a little.  The hunter reached to the wall and turned off the lighting.  "Hey,"  he said. "be here in the morning, okay?"

"Thank you, Robert."


	4. Chapter 4

Bobby had thought it might take him awhile to go to sleep, with someone else there in the bed, but the next he knew, he was slowly surfacing to the knowledge of having been asleep for several hours.  The wind had died down and things were quiet, with a pearly gray light in the room.  It didn't feel like time to get up yet.  _And Crowley was in bed with him_.  Quite close to him, actually, and Bobby found that he had an arm around Crowley, so it wasn't like he had any grounds to complain, though the fact that neither of them was wearing anything above the waist made Bobby wonder how he was going to extricate himself from this one.  He really should want to.

"Morning, Robert,"  Crowley drawled softly, not moving his head away from Bobby's chest.  "Must say, I wouldn't mind waking up like this all the time."

A dozen things went through Bobby's mind, none of them very coherent. For some reason he heard Dean's voice in his mind, painstakingly telling him:  _He likes you, Bobby._   And then:  _He's scared._ Bobby hugged Crowley hard, causing a surprised _oof_ from the demon.  "Wouldn't mind if you did either,"  he muttered.  "But I don't have a clue what I'm doin'."

"Do you think I do, love?"

"What?"

"What we're doing, what we might be to one another."  The demon's voice was quiet, matter of fact.  "I never knew love in my lifetime and it doesn't happen in Hell.  There's power, lust, sex and the aforementioned gorgeous demon babes.  Topside, there's my deals, where most of them kiss me because they have to and they have no idea what I really am or what they've agreed to.  It's usually a shock to them when they're dragged off after their time is up.  I was a crossroads demon for a hundred years.  Before that, I didn't leave Hell.  I spent a lot of time on the racks before Lilith decided I might serve as one of her minions.  Torture, pain, blood, all the good stuff.  Then my mother comes along and I fooled myself, Robert, really made a total idjit of myself as you might say, believing she actually loved me.  A witch.  What was I thinking?  I only know that if Dean hadn't told me you were alive, I don't know what I would have done.  Where I would be, if you'd blasted me with rock salt, instead of being kind."

His voice was grim again.  Angry.  Bobby eased his hold, put a hand on Crowley's bare shoulder, embarrassment banished by worry.  "You were here because you were concerned.  I'd be a shit to blast you under those conditions."

"Well, then, most of humanity must be shits."

"Can't say I'd disagree with you there."  Crowley's tone was calmer now.  He sighed and shifted position upwards a bit to press his face against Bobby's neck.  _Be dumb to worry about him cuddling now when he's been here all night._   Bobby stroked Crowley's hair.

"I'm gonna get up and make some breakfast, then we start on some answers.  Suit you?"

"Anything you want, love."

Bobby heaved himself up, yawning, and tried to stop when he saw Crowley watching him intently.  He was lying in the bed as comfortably as a cat, bare to the waist, with the covers thrown over his lower half and a slight grin on his lips, and Bobby felt a sudden jolt in his chest.  _I'm not gay.  I'd know if I was, wouldn't I?  I don't go for guys – it's just him._   With Crowley's words still in his mind, he knew, suddenly, what he did want, and it wasn't as simple as sex.  "You going to stay in bed all day?"  he asked.

"It's not really day yet,"  Crowley objected.

"Maybe not, but I want coffee."  With that, Bobby finished getting to his feet and headed to the kitchen.  He had two mugs set out and the coffee on the way, when he felt hands on his shoulders, gently kneading.  He felt his eyes cross at the sensation in his muscles.  "You got all day to stop doin' that,"  he said.

"You don't mind me touching you?"

"No.  I guess – I feel like I ought to but I don't.  Look."  Reluctantly he turned about, Crowley letting his hands slide around with him so that they rested on Bobby's chest.  "I want to say some stuff and it's probably not going to come out right.  Geez, I don't mean it like that."  Crowley raised his eyebrows politely but couldn't stop his grin.  "You gonna listen?"

"I didn't say a word, darling."

"Your face did,"  Bobby grumbled.  "Okay.  This is what I'd want if it could happen.  I want you to stay with me.   If you want to be more human, we can work on that, and _not_ by blood magic.  When Sam tried to cure you, you remembered bein' human, didn't you?  You tried to help the boys, even though they gave you no thanks for it.  You even tried to help your mother, though she abandoned you as a child."

"It was payment for what I'd done in the past.  I didn't deserve thanks.  As for helping Rowena, well, everybody makes mistakes."

"Well, okay, maybe you didn't deserve it. "  Bobby could feel his face getting red.  "Anyways, what I mean is, you _do_ still have some humanity in you.  Maybe it's from the trials, maybe it's not, but there may be more than one way to achieve that goal.  If you want.  Damn, I knew this was gonna sound stupid, but I had to say it."  He moved away to finish getting the coffee, but Crowley's hand on his arm stayed him.

"Robert.  You don't sound stupid.  You sound amazing."  His voice was low and he didn't look Bobby in the eyes.  "When I came to you, I didn't have any plan to leave.  I was trying to decide what to say to get you to let me stay.  Now you invite me.  I don't know if I can leave Hell – what happens to a demon who tries.  There's only Cain who ever did it and he was something of a special case.  But yes.  I'll do it."  He hugged Bobby from behind.  "I'm scared silly at the idea, but yes."

" _You're_ scared,"  Bobby muttered.  " _I_ got to tell Sam and Dean."

He raised the other point on his mind, over breakfast, or rather, with him having breakfast and Crowley sitting by his side discussing the deficiencies of his nutrition.  "Crowley?  You and me, is this a gay thing?  Because I don't think I am."

Crowley shrugged lightly.  "Don't ask me, love.  I don't bother defining myself like that.  Limiting myself.  Not very demon-like, is it?"  He saw Bobby's bewilderment and added.  "I like women and men.  Ridiculous idea most humans have, that it has to be male/female.  Then they'll meet somebody on the other side of the fence they built and whoo."  He whistled, grinning.  "You saying you _would_ like to fall into bed with me?"

"Lemme finish breakfast first,"  Bobby grumbled and that made Crowley lose it completely, rest his head on his arms and laugh until Bobby had to join in.

Later that morning, Bobby raised the question of the suit.  "Is that really comfortable?"

"You expect me to wear plaid?"

"No!  Just you could dress down a bit, you know?  You don't have to impress your demon deals here or the folks in Hell or your tailor...."

"Who got eaten."

"Yeah, okay.  You can still have nice stuff that's not a three piece suit and tie."

"Shall we go shopping?"

"No way,"  Bobby muttered, as a mental image of himself walking into a store with Crowley by his side burned itself into his mind.  Nor could he think of anyone to enlist.  "You can go by yourself.  Just tell 'em you're after casual gear.  Don't you know how to shop?"

"I had a _tailor_ , Robert."

He went grocery shopping in the end, leaving Crowley to his own devices, which wasn't particularly safe, he knew.  When he got home a couple of hours later, he said Crowley's name hopefully.  There was quiet for a moment and then Crowley answered from the spare, currently unfurnished room.  When Bobby went in there, he gawked openly.  The demon was now wearing well-fitting blue jeans, artfully faded, and a new black t-shirt which also fit him well. 

Crowley gestured at the bed, which also hadn't been there when Bobby left, and at the neat piles of clothing on it.  More shirts, t-shirts and button downs, trousers and jeans and chinos, all good quality.  Sheets in a sort of red-maroon shade, also silk-blend, adorned the bed, with a matching coverlet.  "I summoned a fashion consultant to shop with me.  It turns out that Hell has quite a few."

Bobby's mind went blank as he tried to envisage what that had been like.  He shook his head, sat on the edge of the bed to watch Crowley, rather enjoying the freedom to do so while the demon wasn't currently watching him.  The sudden sound of the landline made him curse.  Damn, he missed his old house.  Two floors made for a bit of distance between him and the phones, or visitors, if he really wanted to ignore them.  This postage stamp of a place was like living in a tent.

"Probably Garth,"  he said, sighed and  went to deal with it.  Crowley shrugged and kept putting his new purchases away, hanging the shirts neatly on hangers.  He paused when he heard the hunter's voice raised angrily.  "Damn it, Dean.  You're the one told him how to find me, so why do you....well, if I want him to move in, I'll ask him, not you.  No, he hasn't messed with my mind, thank you very much, Dr fucking Phil."  A brief silence, then, "Well, that's more'n I knew before.  If you're not gonna trust me, why should I tell you anything?  Sure, he's everything you say but you ever thought to help him?  Like you would somebody who's acted like a friend despite being a demon?  Yeah, _since_ the trials.  I know the sort of stuff he did before, because, hey, demon.  But there's more ways than one to teach him humanity and one is damn well treating him like a person.  Okay.  If you want my help, you know where to find me and you better be polite to both of us."

The phone slammed down.  Crowley didn't try to pretend he hadn't been listening;  he stayed at the door as Bobby returned, steaming.  He expected the hunter to stop when he saw him, but Bobby just took another step against him and gave him a hug.  "I swear,  those boys drive me insane,"  he grumbled.  Crowley, startled, put his arms around Bobby's middle.

"There we agree, love,"  he murmured.  "Dean took it upon himself to warn you about getting too friendly with me, did he?"

"You could say,"  Bobby agreed.  "Dean said he's met the Darkness."

"Hm?"

"In a dream or a vision, he wasn't real clear.  He and Sam were in the car when it got bogged, watching this bank of black smoke roll over the land towards them.  Crowley made an agreeable "mm" sound, resting his head against Bobby as the hunter shifted them into the room.  "So in the dream, Dean said he found himself out of the car and everything was dark, but in front of him was this beautiful girl."  Crowley chuckled and Bobby followed suit.  "I know.  It's Dean.  So she tells him she's the Darkness, that he freed her...."

"Rather detailed dream,"  Crowley said slowly.

"Yeah.  He said it felt really real."

"Eloquent as always."

Bobby smacked him in the ribs, half-heartedly.  "Dean's not in the habit of ringing me up to tell me about his dreams.  This one really shook him up, sounds like."  He sighed.  "I think I'm gonna have to drive over there, sort 'em out."  The demon beside him went quiet.  "Will you come with me?"  Bobby asked.  "You might be able to sort things out better than me, hell, I know you will."

"Sit down for a moment, darling,"  Crowley said, and lifted a pile of his shirts with a lazy extension of his will, tossing them down again along the bed.  Bobby did, looking a little wary.  "Something I didn't think I would need to tell you about myself.  I'm a demon."  Bobby began to make a growling sort of comment and Crowley lifted a hand.  "The bleeding obvious, I know.  But here's what it means, in this context:  I have a rather ridiculous infatuation with you, so I'm....more careful as regards demonic matters around you.  That doesn't mean I give any more of a shit as regards the majority of humanity.  The Winchesters are a special case.  For awhile, Dean was one of my people, but he's since made it very clear that we are over.  And Sam tried to kill me, but even so, I owe him the debt of reminding me what I am."

"That's direct,"  Bobby said.

"And you don't like it."  Crowley nodded.  "I didn't expect that you would, love, but you had to hear it.  Things got a mite intense between me and your boys, and I don't think they will be happy to see me, which is putting it mildly.  If I show up with you and it's all "I'm here to help,"  that's probably going to wreck any chance you have of a working relationship, or any other kind, with Sam and Dean."

"You did say you'd give being human another try,"  Bobby said.  "In a manner of speaking."

He got the full the-King-is-disappointed-in-your-denseness look then.

"With _you_."

Bobby got to his feet.  "Suit yourself.  I got some things to get ready."  He patted the demon's shoulder and headed out of the room.  He pondered the exchange in his bedroom as he tossed a few things into a bag and got out his gun-cleaning kit to prepare the shotgun.  Seemed to him what Crowley was saying was kind of like how a wolf might be, as opposed to a dog, to Bobby's way of thinking.

A wolf or a dog who was mostly wolf, could be brought up tame by a person and yeah, that person was its pack.  The rest of the human race remained as an unknown factor and never to be trusted.  The tameness only went so far as that one individual, so if anything happened to that person, it would be problematic at best for anyone else to adopt the grown wolf.

Crowley would hate that analogy, he decided, but it was the best an old hunter could come up with.  With Bobby he might be "tame," sort of, but with everyone else, he was still the King of Hell and he wouldn't see why he should alter his behaviour in the slightest.  Or, probably, why that should bother Bobby.  If that was what he thought it meant to act human, or be human, they might have a problem.

He found Crowley in one of the armchairs, comfortably reading.  "I'm gonna head off,"  he said.  "It's about a two hour drive.  I'll give you a call when I've an idea when I'll be back, 'cause right now I don't know.  If you're staying here, that is?"

"I may have some errands of my own,"  the demon acknowledged.  "But yes, do call me."

He put the book down and got to his feet, looking expectantly at Bobby.  _You started it this time,_ the hunter reminded himself.  Rather awkwardly, he leaned down a little and kissed Crowley lightly.  "I'm not really the kissin' and cuddlin' type,"  he mumbled.

"I love a challenge,"  Crowley murmured back.


	5. Chapter 5

A short while into the drive, Dean called again.  He sounded tired and anxious to Bobby; also, clearly driving while he talked.  Bobby had pulled over before answering his phone, but he knew it would be useless to say anything to Dean.  "You think _that's_ dangerous?" was what he'd probably get back.  Dean also sidestepped any reference to their near-argument a couple of hours earlier.  Avoiding the issue; a Winchester specialty.

_"You know anything about evil babies?"_

"Well, you know I never had children of my own, but there was this one time when Sam was around two...."

_"Thanks, Bobby.  No, it's this job I'm on in Nebraska."_

"Wasn't that where you were just havin' a 'chat' with Death?"

_"No, different town, but same state, yeah."_

"Have you gotten any rest at all?"  Bobby grumbled at him.

_"Sure, last night.  Anyway, Jody called Sam about it.  This woman called her local police station crying and carrying on about this baby that's doing all this poltergeist shit in the house and the cops called Jody because she's got a rep for knowing about the weird stuff, since they met her at that cop get-together in Hibbing..."_

"And Jody called you guys because you don't have enough to do."

_"You want to help or not?"_

"I dunno, Dean.  I was driving over to find out what the hell you and Sam have done this time, because I have to tell you, your explanations so far haven't helped much.  So you're not in Kansas any more, huh?"  He rolled his eyes when Dean kept going, the _Wizard of Oz_ reference apparently whizzing past him.

_"No, I told you, Nebraska.  Sam's not here because he wanted to check out the zombies around Superior while I check out this woman's story about the baby."_

"I know this is gonna make sense any day now."

_"People wandering around the town and general area, being really aggressive, showing mottled marks over their necks, attacking other people for no good reason and then falling down dead.  They started showing up right after the thing with, uh, Death and the Darkness showing up.  Zombies doesn't take so long to say."_

Bobby sighed, mentally considering maps in his mind.  He already knew his home was closer to the border with Nebraska than the bunker, so his best bet would be to turn around, drive past his house again and on the other side, to rendezvous with Dean wherever.  "Just give me the address you're headed for.  I'll meet you there."

*

Bobby had thought he was tired when he set out, but after the chaotic conclusion to the job, he was exhausted.  He managed to hide the signs of it from Dean and Sam when they parted;  they bound for the bunker and he to head back to his home.  They were supposed to meet up to plan the hunt for the missing child, but Bobby had firmly refused to "save time" by accompanying the brothers to the bunker.  "I can meet you wherever,"  he had said, and Dean looked at him uneasily.  No one said Crowley's name but he was the dark ghost in the room all the same.

Twenty minutes later, Bobby pulled over to the side of the road and leaned his head against the wheel, sick with fatigue.  He had nearly fallen asleep as he drove;  a few more seconds and that would be all she wrote.  He wasn't that far from home, but it didn't matter. 

"Robert?"

The sudden voice from behind him, the hand touching his shoulder,  made him bang his head into the ceiling of the truck.  "Shit, Crowley!"

"Come on, let's get you home."  The hand gripped . . . and suddenly the vehicle wasn't there and he was staggering in the living room of the little house, having to grab on to Crowley to stay upright.  Nausea coursed through him and Bobby almost christened the polished planks of the floor.

"Truck,"  he muttered.

"Is outside,"  Crowley said firmly.  "Come on.  Bedroom."

"Don't zap me there.  I'll walk!"

"All right, Robert.  I must say, for a grown man you can put on an impressive tantrum."  The demon continued muttering as he hauled the hunter along to the bedroom, but Bobby didn't mind that.  It was rather comforting.  "I was worried about you, so I checked.  Why didn't you just call me?"

"Didn't think of it,"  Bobby admitted.  Crowley put him on the bed and he sighed with relief.  "Tired."

"I know.  At least take your boots off, Robert.  Oh, never mind, let me."  Crowley wrestled with the boots and dropped them on to the floor, then put his hands on Bobby's belt.  The hunter, half-asleep, shoved at him.

"Getoffme, I'm not some pansy."

"You _did_ kiss me, Robert.  I'm not after your virtue at this moment;  I'm trying to help you take your outer garments off so you're not hideously uncomfortable.  But suit yourself."  Crowley dropped a kiss to Bobby's forehead, wondering why he felt so compelled to do that, and to help.  "I'm just next door if you wake up and need somebody to bring a bucket."

"Why you goin' over there?"  came from the bed, barely distinguishable as words.  Crowley stopped at the door.

"Because you're going to sleep,"  he said at last.  This was not a situation where he had an awful lot of experience, except for 400-year-old memories of a squalling toddler.

"Oh.  Okay," said Bobby and to Crowley's relief, he settled down and when the demon came back a few minutes later to listen, was snoring gently.  Crowley walked slowly through the small house.  He had, he supposed, a great deal to do, both below and topside, but somehow, the best thing he could find to do was to settle into an armchair with a book and wait for his hunter to awaken.

*

Bobby shuffled past him in t-shirt and boxers, perhaps eight or nine hours later, nodded slightly to him and went into the kitchenette where he proceeded to open cupboard doors and check their contents, muttering feebly to himself.  Crowley watched as he poured the contents of a bottle into a mug, adding a number of other ingredients he couldn't decipher.  Lastly the hunter cracked an egg into it, looked over to Crowley and said, "Wish me luck," and downed the contents.  He gagged briefly, coughed and held on to the side of the sink for a moment.

"That looks like something I should add to a demonic torture routine,"  Crowley said.

"It's a pick-me-up.  Hangover cure or just when you're feelin' like crap.  Or both."  Bobby reached the other armchair and sank into it.  "I'm too old to be doin' this sort of thing."

"What sort of thing might that be?"

"Hunting stuff!  Long drives and dealing with crazy shit.  The girl was a cop but only just;  she coulda been my granddaughter.  It wasn't her baby, she found it abandoned in Superior, drove to her gran's place in the next town.  So that means it was where the clouds of black smoke or gas or whatever the hell they were showed up.  Anyway, ground zero for Dean zapping Death.  Dean says that was the moment your mother did her spell."

"Robert, could you do me one favour?"  Bobby hmmed.  "Please don't refer to that redheaded bitch as my mother, ever again."

"Sorry.  Anyway, the old lady was dead when we got there and the baby was missing.  Only it wasn't a baby."

Crowley's expression was nonplussed for a moment, but Bobby could see him processing and jumping over the gaps in Bobby's words.  "This is connected with the Darkness."

"Yeah.  The baby was a newborn when the cop found it, but when Dean and I talked to the girl, she said it got older.  Faster than normal, I mean.  She went into the nursery and found her gran on the floor, dead, and the kid was child-size, standing there and staring at her.  All this after the big panic on the phone to the police, mind you.  Cop comes downstairs when she hears us outside, we come in....and no baby."

"So how do you know there ever was a baby and the young woman didn't just do her granny in for kicks?"

"Then why call Jody?  Or however the chain of calls went.  She didn't need to say there was a kid at all.  Also, she gave us her gran's phone.  See.  Photos of the women with the baby.  Dates."   He passed Crowley the phone, leaning over his shoulder.  "Also, used diapers in the house, which I could have done without seeing, or smelling."

"Too much information by far, Robert."  Crowley shrugged, passed him back the phone.  The reminder of Rowena made him unsettled in a way he wasn't used to, and he could see her face, the cold contempt in her eyes.  Then the defiant anger in Sam's, the rejection from Dean.  Why was he even noticing those things.  Why wasn't he out plotting, planning to smite the whole miserable crew?

Bobby looked at him and placed a cautious arm around his shoulders.  "Are you okay?"

Crowley made a slight sound of dismissal, but the heavy muscle of Bobby's arm did feel good, holding him and he leaned against the hunter.  "I should be saying that to you."

"Nah, I'm fine.  I'm the one just slept the clock around – what is the time – while you guarded the threshold."  Bobby hugged him.

"Early evening,"  Crowley said.  He didn't want Bobby to let go of him.  It felt as though this human was somehow holding all the grief and anger of the past weeks at bay, that somehow he wasn't King of Hell here, but only a man.  He would, he decided, obtain a couch for this room so that Robert could be persuaded to sit on it with him.  "Maybe you should eat something.  It must be some time since you did."

"You're not wrong,"  the hunter agreed.  He looked at Crowley, who was scrunched uncomfortably-looking on one side of the armchair, to be near him, and his own arm squeezed behind the demon's shoulders.  "Pity these chairs are so damn small."

Puzzled, Crowley flicked a glance at them.  "Not if you lost a few pounds, Robert."

"Says you,"  Bobby grumbled at him.  He released Crowley, sat back in his chair and wondered whether Crowley would just stare at him and laugh or say something sarcastic, in the next few moments.  "Come here a moment."  Halfheartedly, he indicated his lap, waited.  And found himself squashed back against the chair as Crowley, without a word, scrambled up and deposited himself in Bobby's lap, arms around him tightly.  Bobby uffed and returned the embrace.  Crowley's scruff did feel oddly scratchy against his face and he was sure heavier than anyone else who ever sat there, but not a problem.  Definitely not a problem.

"It's okay,"  the hunter said awkwardly, patting his back.  It felt like a threshold had been passed, that he had been standing beyond it, not sure what the hell he should be doing, but that now it was all right.  Whatever else Crowley might want or need from him;  they could work that out together.

Crowley sighed, sitting up a little straighter and wiping his eyes.  Had he been crying?  Bobby couldn't tell.  "I think, love, that I should go put my suit on, that you should get dressed and we go out for dinner.  Somewhere close and probably completely uncivilised, because it might be an idea if I don't toss you around by teleport for a little while."

Bobby laughed quietly.  "Yeah."  He was about to say Crowley wouldn't need to wear the works just to go to some local bar or pasta place, but something in the way he'd said it made Bobby think he needed to get back to normality for a bit.  Whatever that was to him, it seemed to include a three piece suit.


	6. Chapter 6

Dinner was quiet and enjoyable almost to the last minute.  Bobby was chowing down on the last of his burger, peacefully content, and Crowley, having finished his, was commenting on the culinary choices of everyone else in the place;  fortunately softly enough so that only Bobby could hear him.  The hunter looked up, startled, when someone spoke from directly behind him.  Two dark suited, white shirted men, looking like the Feds whom the boys so often imitated, were focused on Crowley.

"Sire,"  one said, making it grimly clear what these were.  "Might we have a word?"

"No,"  Crowley growled.

"It is an urgent matter, or we wouldn't dream of disturbing you, my King," the other said.  They were getting interested attention from the folks at nearby tables, wondering who the important-seeming man was.  Actor?  Politician?  Talent scout? 

Crowley glared at them, then slowly stood.  "Three minutes.  Outside,"  he said, with a wave of his hand.  The two demons hastily left.  "Better I see what they want and get rid of them or they'll just hang around like bad smells,"  he murmured to Bobby.  "Won't be a minute."  The hunter nodded uneasily and stayed put.  Incredibly, he'd come out unarmed.  His subconscious had definitely filed Crowley in a safe category, aside from all other demons.  That was just stupid.  This event proved that beyond doubt.  He couldn't eat any more and dropped the remains of his burger on his plate, watching the doors nervously until he saw Crowley come back in alone.

He dropped some notes on the table and got up, meeting the other man halfway in.  "Everything okay?"

"Not really, love."

"Well, let's get home so you can tell me about it,"  Bobby said.  From the driver's seat a moment later, he asked, "You _can_ tell me about it?"

"I'm the King.  Who's going to tell me I can't?"

"Right."

Back at the house;  he again followed Bobby into the bedroom, quietly undressing alongside the hunter.  "Hell is apparently upset,"  he said out of nowhere, his tone caustic.  "Hell is bloody well freaking out, according to my minions.  And why?  Because some entity called the Darkness has shown up out of legend to mess up their day.  She's manifested here on the Earth plane for the first time in uncounted millenia.  Demons are scurrying home on the tiniest pretext to hide under the racks."  He paused and added helpfully, "Because they don't have beds."

"I got that,"  Bobby agreed, getting into his bed with a tired sigh.  "Do you have to go back to, um, calm things down?"

"They'd be sorry if I did that right now.  I'd calm a few of the miserable cowards down permanently.  I did learn something you might find interesting, however.  The group that attacked me here in town and the Winchesters' wandering zombies in Superior are the same thing.  The "effects" they're displaying are a side effect of the Darkness arriving.  You might want to let your boys know it's wider spread than they think, definitely beyond the two towns and maybe out of the state by now.  Spread by biting.  It also kills the host within days, which may disappoint those hoping for a zombie apocalypse."

"I could think of a few folks like that,"  Bobby mentioned.  He watched the King of Hell pacing back and forth, naked except for his red silk boxers.  Interesting view, especially with those colourful dragon tattoos over his chest and shoulders.

"They're showing up in Hell.  The people with the zombie disease, that is.  So far, no one who'll admit to being patient zero, but I've told my demons to keep asking."

Bobby thought uneasily of what that had to mean.  "You comin' to bed?"  he asked, trying to steer the conversation away from demonic interrogations.

Crowley did stop pacing, but his intent look made Bobby wish he had said almost anything else.  "This is what I want,"  he said.

"Uh, I'm not sure..."

"For the first time in I don't know how long, I feel good,"  Crowley said, overriding his words.  "At least in the sense of general well-being!  I went out to dinner with someone who knows who I am, yet seems to enjoy my company.  Despite the interruption at the end, things went well.  Then we come back home."  He put a slight, troubled emphasis on the word.  "We chat and we head off to bed.  Have you any idea how unusual that is for me?"

"I'm beginning to get a glimmering,"  Bobby admitted.

"Look, Robert.  I know you like me but you're, shall we say, not too sure about the next step."  Bobby managed a smile at that.  "So I'll tell you that if we're intimate, you will enjoy yourself.  But if we never do the tango, if we're together in every other sense of the word, I will be content.  And yet the whole damn universe is gearing itself up to fall apart.   I finally get rid of my mother, who has been undermining me at court for weeks., only to have her team up with the Winchesters;  Sam at least.  Now she's managed to make off with two major magical artefacts.  My demons can't manage to do a single thing right without me cracking the whip, just at the time when I would like to take a break from Hellishness and spend some time with you.  Finding out you were alive was the only decent thing that's happened to me since, well, forever."

He sat down on the bed.  "I'd like to stay with you, if you'll have me.  I'd like to argue with you about your abyssmal taste in liquor.  I'd like to cuddle in front of some awful television program.  I don't want to hear about the Winchesters or Hell's problems or some hideously powerful entity busting in here from outside the world.  And despite being King of the infernal realms, I'm not going to get anything that I want.  I can sense it."

"Yeah, you are,"  Bobby said quietly.  "C'mon over here."  Crowley sighed and shifted close to him.  "I already told you I want you to stay,"  the hunter told him, pulling Crowley against his chest.  "I don't have a television but we'll see what we can do about the rest of it, all right?"

"All right,"  Crowley murmured.

*

The banging on the front door woke Bobby up, straight into annoyance.  He could recognise the voices yelling for him to come answer the door if he was there.  Crowley was out of bed, over by the doorway, wearing black jeans and a hot pink t-shirt that hurt Bobby's eyes to look at.  "Want me to get rid of them?"  he asked.

"No!"

"I only mean make them leave."

"Sure you do,"  Bobby grumbled.  He wanted a shower and hot coffee and about an hour before he dealt with anything, let alone a Winchester or two.  By the look of him, Crowley had done a leisurely clean up and....."You shaved."

Cleanshaven, Crowley reminded Bobby strongly of how the demon had looked when they had last met, before Bobby's "death."  Crowley ran a hand around his own jaw and smiled wickedly at Bobby.  "You're a good influence, darling."

"Right."  He grabbed a shirt, thrust his feet into the trousers he had taken off last night and tossed over a chair.  "Try to remember that."

When Bobby opened the door, with Crowley beside him, he had to admit that Dean's and Sam's expressions were almost worth the unceremonious rousing from sleep.  Not him, they'd seen him this messed up before, but Crowley with his meticulously shaved face and bright pink shirt elicited several minutes of numbstruck silence.  Bobby decided to make the most of it.

"New house rules,"  he said, before they could recover.  "You two don't do anythin' to him and Crowley, you don't use your power on 'em in any way, shape or form.  Sam don't have to apologise for tryin' to kill you and you don't have to apologise for settin' Dean up to take the Mark.  In the end he had to agree to it, from whatever I've been able to work out, and you couldn't have forced that.  We're gonna need all the help we can get for this hunt.  So.  Deal?"

"Make up kiss?"  Crowley asked Dean.

"Kiss my ass,"  Dean snarled and shouldered his way into the house, when Bobby yanked Crowley out of the way.

"Your mother,"  Sam added, following his brother.

"Oh, please, be my guest,"  Crowley muttered. 

Bobby began to say he'd fetch a couple of folding chairs from the back porch, then saw the new addition to his living room.  The three-seater couch adorned a previously bare wall, facing the two armchairs, whose aged beige covers looked rather faded in comparison with the splendid brown leather of the couch.  Bobby shook his head slightly, trying not to grin as the Winchesters each took one of the chairs.  He sat down on the new couch, finding it exactly the right height and dimensions.  Crowley settled beside him and smirked at the Winchesters.

Dean and Sam glared back at the demon.  Bobby's look back at them was warning;  they could accept this or they could leave.  "Now,"  he said, "I want the whole damn story.  Just what have you boys been up to?"

They told him.  With frequent interjections and corrections from Crowley who, however, went grimly silent as Sam related his deal with Rowena.  Both brothers stared at Bobby as he reached his arm around Crowley and gave him a little shake, until the demon looked at him, as though no one else was present.  "It's okay,"  he said quietly.  A little louder, he added, "So this witch, who doesn't give a shit about anyone or anything, made this guy Oskar immortal?"

"The spell called for Rowena to kill something she loved, which was sort of a problem,"  Sam said uncomfortably.  "At first we thought it might be Crowley."  He visibly edited the sentence before Bobby's glare. 

"No,"  snarled the King of Hell.  "It was someone who was once an eight-year-old boy, my age at the time my mother abandoned me.  Oskar was more convenient than I was.  I interrupted her studies in dark magic by needing pesky things like food and shelter!  He already had a family;  he was something pretty for her to play with!  All she needed to do was her magic, which was everything to her.  When Oskar's family saved her from witch hunters, I was in a fucking workhouse."  His voice broke into a wordless, grating sound of misery.  Sam and Dean looked uncomfortable.  Bobby turned and wrapped both his arms around Crowley, hugging him firmly. 

"Outside,"  he said to the Winchesters.  "I'll come get you in a few."

For a wonder, neither argued.  Bobby listened for the front door to shut, stroking the dark head pressed against his chest.  Crowley was crying in earnest, as though something final was broken in him.  Some time later, much longer than the few minutes Bobby had promised, his sobs eased and he drew a long, shaky breath and lifted his head to look at Bobby.  "Winchesters enjoy the show?"

"No,"  Bobby said gently.  "I can promise you that much.  Hey, now."  He leaned down, deposited an awkward, whiskery kiss on Crowley's cheek.  "I haven't met her, but your mother don't seem worth tears.  In the end, her so-called love for Oskar didn't save him, did it?  She didn't even know you.  Same as my father didn't know me.  He nearly killed me with beatings when I was young.  My mother too."

"What did you do?"  Crowley asked.

"Shot him,"  Bobby said grimly.  "It was him or me, by that time.  He was a monster, just like your – like Rowena is a monster.  Havin' humanity don't mean crap, a lot of the time, Crowley.  They got souls but something's empty in 'em, something wrong.  I've hunted monsters most of my life and I tell you, humans are the ones I really don't figure."

Crowley smiled wanly.  "Give me a few minutes before you let the boys back in.  Something I want to do."

"What's that?"

"Put my suit back on.  I'll feel more like me then."

"Go for it,"  Bobby said with a grin.  He sat back on the couch with a sigh and waited until Crowley came back in his familiar black suit, with the carefully knotted silver paisley tie.  "I suppose you don't want a cuddle now, King of Hell?"

"Indeed I do,"  Crowley said with mock outrage, settling himself next to Bobby.  "How do _you_ feel about it, with the Winchesters judging you?"

"They can deal,"  Bobby said.  He went to the front door and opened it, having to cast about for a few minutes before he saw the Winchesters back in the Impala, evidently talking or arguing or both.  He waved at them and they tramped back across the front lawn towards him.

"He all right?"  Dean asked cautiously.   He glanced at Bobby, then at his brother.  "Uh, when you said he was staying here for a bit, I didn't think you meant him and you were, um...."

"I didn't, exactly,"  Bobby grumbled.  "I dunno what him and me are, but you two can suck it up.  Have you figured out yet that you couldn't have gotten rid of that Mark without him?  He found the ingredients for the goddamned spell, you idjits."

"He set Dean up to take the Mark!  You said so yourself."

"He pushed him, maybe, but last time I looked, Dean was a grown man who can make decisions for himself,"  Bobby snapped.  "Just because your buddy tells you to jump off the cliff, you gonna do it?  Now, look.  You got work to do yourselves.  Find Rowena.  Find this child, if she's got somethin' to do with the Darkness, which she most likely does considerin' you saw the mark on her, Dean.  Shit, you even lost Castiel, didn't you?"

"He wasn't there when we went to look for him,"  Sam said levelly.  "And Dean's talked to him.  He tried to say he was fine;  he didn't want us to find him."

"Give me strength,"  Bobby said, turning to go back into the house.  "You come in for a few minutes, you do not wind Crowley up and then I'm kickin' you out.  If you need advice, we'll help you."  He was back in the living room by then, gesturing to a composed looking Crowley, who made a slight, gracious wave.  "Now, what do you say to folks who offer to help you?"

"Thanks,"  Sam said, being the diplomat.  He made to elbow Dean, who dodged it.

"Yeah.  We, uh, appreciate it."

A look of faint surprise crossed the demon's face.  "You're welcome,"  he said, with less irony than he might otherwise have done.  His look at Dean was almost hopeful.

"Okay, that'll do,"  Bobby said, anxious to get the brothers out before the fragile detente was shattered by some idjit remark.  Sam and Dean let the older hunter usher them out.  Dean strolled ahead to his car, while Sam lingered over his goodbyes.

"If _you_ need help with anything, Bobby, call us, okay?"  he asked.  "I'm not having a go or anything, honest, but he – Crowley is pretty messed up, you know, and he's a real powerful demon.  You gotta think about how it'll be when he's not, uh, happy with you."

"I know,"  Bobby answered.  "But I think you gave him a chance to get better, when you did the demon trials, even if you didn't exactly have his well-being in mind when you tried to do it.  Cain was the first of the demons and from what you say, he was getting along all right until..."

"Until we came along."

"Well, yeah."

"Just be careful,"  Sam said and followed his brother.  Bobby watched the black Impala out of sight and murmured a brief, heartfelt prayer under his breath before he turned to go in, back to his demon.


End file.
